Mythic
by Himitsu-no-Paradise
Summary: Some punishments seem impossible to bear. Post-Avengers. Thor 2 (trailer) AU. Loosely based on Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok.
1. Prologue

This is not my fault. THIS IS NOT MY FAULT.

New fanfiction. Post-Avengers, Thor 2 trailer AU. Loosely based on Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok. Enjoy.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

"You can't be serious."

A slim, silver eyebrow raised itself high, as the Allfather's one good eye studied his youngest son, whose mouth had been unbound but whose hands were still firmly bound, now, in Asgardian chains. He took careful strides down the steps and stopped just in front of the young Trickster, his one blue eye bearing, harshly, into the two incredulous green ones staring back at him.

"You heard me correctly, Loki."

"So, you're telling me that you're sending me back to the world I just tried to conquer...willingly?"

Odin's eye slid to Thor, who stood just off to the side, looking just as confused as his younger brother did. It was then that revelation dawned on the oldest Odinson and he looked at Loki.

"You're receiving my previous punishment," he said in understanding.

"Not only just," Odin added. "But you will be stripped of most of your powers—only in very specific situations will you be able to call upon any of your magic. And you will be confined."

"Confined?" Loki asked, his eyebrow raising high. "I thought this punishment was fair exchange for confinement."

"Not confined in it's most basic meaning," Odin replied. "You will be confined to your body."

Loki offered him a deadpan expression.

"As a child."

Turning to look at his mother and Thor, his face nearly _begged_ for assistance. But they were silent—in fact, they had done their arguing with Odin before Loki had even been brought in._ They_ were the reason he was being offered this (tentative) second chance.

"So, I am to live on Midgard for the rest of my days without magic in the form of a _child_?" Loki growled, finally turning a glare back on Odin.

"If you wish to act as a child, then you will be one," Odin replied. "However, if you wish to reclaim all I will take—if you wish to redeem yourself for your selfish, childish actions then you must prove yourself."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "And how do you propose I do th—" He was cut off by Odin reaching out his hand and squeezing his fingers together, Loki's mouth immediately shutting as if zipped closed at the seam of his lips. He tried to open it but couldn't. He glared.

"No more _outbursts_. You think I do this to hurt you, but you've no idea how very much it _pains_ me to have to punish my son for his careless and thoughtless decisions!" barked Odin. "If you wish to prove you have grown in maturity, you will help those you once tried to hurt."

Loki's glare never wavered, but his eyes asked the questions his mouth could not. _And how do you propose I do that?_

"The method in which you enact your assistance is to be entirely your own. I cannot tell you what you must do to earn your magic or your body back," Odin replied. "You must find your own road to redemption, my son. It is the only way to tell that it is sincere and true."

Loki rolled his eyes.

"Are you ready?"

He could say nothing, and he averted his gaze. _No_, he wanted to say. _I never will be._ But he knew, at this point, he had no choice.

Odin glanced at Thor and Frigga, before reaching out his hand again. As a single tear drifted down his face, he jerked his arm back into a fist, pulling the magic from Loki's body, enacting strong, deep restrictions on it and then forcing it to float back inside. Again, he reached out, and with the strength of his own power, he closed his fingers.

Right before all of their eyes, like an avalanche, Loki's adult form crumbled away and in it's place stood a child—a boy with bright green eyes and hair long, slicked and black as ink. He wore a green leather tunic, much simpler than his usual attire, and black trousers with leather boots. He was himself, for certain, but also the child he had once been so long ago.

The child Odin has promised would one day be a king.

Snapping his fingers, Odin undid the spell on Loki's mouth. But Loki said nothing.

Thor wanted to reach out, to embrace his brother, to beg his forgiveness, to try and fix all the wrongs ever done against him, as if this were the past Loki, and not merely the present Loki in past Loki's body. But he knew better. So he stood, still, and looked on with sympathetic eyes.

It was then Odin turned his eyes on Thor. "Will you escort him to Midgard? I am sure you will have to explain his presence to your Director Fury."

"Of course, Father."

"Let them know he is no threat to them. Let them know that he, if anything, is there to help."

Thor nodded and approached Loki. He looked down on him with sad eyes. "Come, Brother."

Loki was still silent—angry, betrayed, contemplating. He turned to follow Thor.

"Loki."

Glancing over his shoulder, he met Odin's single eye with hateful ferocity.

Odin did not let it sway him. His one good eye was full of pity—and love.

"Do me proud, my son."

_I know you can._

* * *

"I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth." Ps 121:1-2

_Please_ review.


	2. Chapter 1

I know everyone is waiting for new chapters for _Endurance_ and _Malenkaya._ I'm still writer's blocking on _Endurance_ and _Malenkaya _is taking a short hiatus because I've reached a middle point in that story. So, I'm going to work on my new story—_Mythic_. I'll have to look back at episodes of _Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok _for ideas, but, in the words of Natasha Romanoff – "It's gonna be fun."

So, enjoy chapter one of _Mythic_

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Any of it.

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Chapter 1

* * *

Natasha Romanoff didn't particularly like living in Stark Tower. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the suite sized room with her own mini fridge, adjacent full bathroom with Jacuzzi jet bathtub, California King sized bed and LED flat-screen TV. It wasn't that she didn't like the full amenities including an indoor swimming pool, training facility and full gym. And it _definitely_ wasn't the company—she appreciated friends like Clint, Steve and Bruce, and could even handle Tony on a good day.

No, what she _really_ hated about living in Stark Tower was being labeled an _Avenger_. She had never been part of a unit before—a partnership, yes, but a team? No. And the thought of living in the Tower, _because_ she was an Avenger felt very…confining. She also wasn't getting her usual influx of assignments.

It had been six months since the war, and though the clean-up was going smoothly and not _immediate_ threats had made their presence know, Fury still wanted his A-List team to be prepared. Which meant eating, sleeping and breathing each other's presences. She didn't really mind spending her time with the other men, as aforementioned, but it did wear on her sometimes being the only woman.

And she missed the idea of being _useful_.

She still had red in ledger, after all.

Standing from her bed, as the morning sun began to seep through her blinds into her window, she moved through the room into her large bathroom. Looking at herself in the mirror, her state of undress leaving every scar and mark ever gained from her life for her to gaze upon.

So many scars. So many memories—some good, most bad. She sighed, peeled the skimpy bra and underwear she wore off and stepped into the shower, turning the water on high and letting the cold water wake her as it slowly warmed, sluicing over her body.

She washed, quickly—something she'd gotten accustomed to doing in the Red Room—and stepped out. Shaking her short red curls out, she brushed her fingers through the moist strands, before pulling a towel into her hair and around her body. She walked back to her vanity, and sat behind it.

Quickly, and carefully, she applied her make-up and fixed her hair—blow-drying and sliding product through her natural curls—before she made her way back out into the bedroom. Whipping the towel off, she pulled another pair of simple black undergarments on and then slid leg-hugging black jeans and a red v-neck t-shirt onto her body. Without putting on shoes, she stepped out into the carpeted hallways of the Avenger floor of Stark Tower—where all of their bedrooms and their own personal kitchen and entertainment room were—trekking quietly through the hall in case any of the others were still asleep.

When she reached the kitchen, she wasn't surprised to find Pepper, making breakfast and brewing coffee and the strawberry blonde woman turned at the sound of someone entering and smile, warmly, at Natasha.

"Good morning, Agent Romanoff," Pepper said, pouring her a cup of coffee, immediately.

"I've told you, Pepper, you can call me Natasha," the red-head replied, smiling as she accepted the coffee with a nod of thanks. She leaned against the island that sat in the middle of the large kitchen and pulled the sugar bowl close. Putting a few small spoonfuls into her coffee, she stirred it quietly as she watched Pepper cook, the smell of a spinach-pesto omelet filling her nose.

"Smells good," she murmured, absently, as she looked around. She took a sip of her dark, sweet coffee and let her eyes rest, on her bare feet, her eyes focused on the red paint on her toes, as her mind wandered back to her current uselessness.

After a long moment of silence between them, in which Natasha sipped her coffee and Pepper flipped the omelet in the pan, the strawberry blonde finally murmured, "You're pretty bored here, huh?"

Natasha's head jerked up to look at Pepper, a small blush rising up on her cheeks. "Why do you say that?"

Pepper smiled down at her breakfast. "Tony."

"_Oh_?" Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what does Mr. Stark have to say about it?"

Pepper let out a small chuckle and replied, "He says he can tell you're feeling couped up. Says Fury hasn't contacted you—any of you—for anything bigger than routine stuff in months."

Natasha shrugged. "It's true. Clint and I are used to…more _strenuous_ missions. That require more of our specific skills. We're not used to this 'team' stuff."

"Well, Agent Barton seems to be adjusting well," Pepper murmured.

"Not surprising," mumbled Natasha, lifting her mug to her lips.

Pepper glanced at her. "Speaking of Agent Barton…are you two—"

"_Miss Romanoff_," came JARVIS' voice over the surround sound speakers in the kitchen. "_There is a phone call for you from your Director Fury._"

"Me? Just me?" she asked, her brow knitting together in a curious furrow. She moved across the kitchen and picked up the phone as Clint and Bruce wandered into the kitchen, enticed by the smell of coffee and food.

"This is Romanoff," Natasha said.

Clint had begun rifling through the fridge as soon as he entered the room, but his head practically rubbernecked around the refrigerator door when he heard his best friend speak into the phone.

"Uh-huh. Yes. Understood. I'll be right there, sir," murmured Natasha and then hung up the phone. "Thank you, JARVIS."

"_My pleasure._"

"Hey, Tasha," Clint asked, grabbing her arm, gently, as she moved toward the kitchen's exit. "What was that all about?"

"Fury needs me for something—says it's urgent."

Clint frowned, thoughtfully. "You but not me?"

"That's what he said."

Clint's frown deepened, and dejectedly, he asked, "So, what're you gonna do then?" as if his not being called in would somehow make her question Fury's orders—which she clearly hadn't.

Natasha slid her arm from his soft touch, and without missing a beat, she smirked, and replied, "Put my shoes on."

Then, she was gone.

* * *

"Are you going to behave yourself?" Thor murmured to the child sitting next to him. A pair of green eyes slid acidly to him, but did not respond, and Thor rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair.

Leaning forward, Loki looked at his reflection in the shining surface of the debriefing table that he and Thor had been seated behind. A scowl fell over his youthful face, and he almost let a whimper escape at how different he looked. Honestly, he had hated being a child. He had always been out-casted because he had always wanted to practice magic rather than spar or train with weapons.

Of course, he had still done those things—he was rather apt with a spear, as well as throwing knives—but he had also sneaked in magic whenever he could and that had always bothered and/or angered whoever he was sparring or training with. No one had ever really understood him as a child. Not even Thor. _Especially_ not Thor.

Of course, the troubled look on Thor's face on the moment—the battle clearly going on in his heart—made Loki wonder if perhaps Thor was realizing the errors of their past. In fact, Loki wondered if Thor hadn't started realizing said errors earlier on.

_It doesn't matter if he has. If he thinks I will so easily forgive, he is _sorely_ mistaken._

Thor watched Loki out of the corners of his eyes and murmured. He saw the anger and impatience on the young face and, though awkward, he felt the need to quell the expression on such a childlike face. Swallowing, nervously, he murmured, "I'm sure Director Fury will return, shortly. He said he only needed to make a call."

Loki remained silent, which Thor knew was worse than anything. For someone who's legend was the clever use of a silver tongue, silence was awful; silence was _dangerous_. Thor knew, when they arrived on the Helicarrier via the newly repaired Bifrost, that it would be bad. He never realized it would be _this_ bad.

He heard the sound of rumbling engines just outside as a Quinjet landed on the flight deck. He frowned, wondering what the arrival meant, as he tapped his finger, nervously, against the table's gleaming surface. He glanced at Loki again, whose eyes were trained on his own reflection, before he slid the blue orbs from him again. He let out a deep, uncertain sigh and then glanced up, relieved, when Fury (finally) returned.

With Agent Natasha Romanoff in tow.

Thor was surprised to find Fury had called Natasha in, but not as surprised as Natasha was to see him. She had assumed he had returned to Asgard for a longer stint than a few months. But what really surprised her was the dark haired child sitting next to him. He looked vaguely familiar, and wore an incredibly bitter expression for someone no older than eleven or twelve.

"Agent Romanoff," Thor said, standing quickly, the manners he cultivated on Asgard kicking in immediately. He bowed to her.

"Thor," she replied, offering a nod in return. As she turned her eyes back to the child, she realized _his_ eyes were firmly trained on her now—intense; curious.

"Sit," Fury said to the both of them and Natasha placed herself, quietly, across from the boy whose eyes stayed planted, solidly, on her face.

"Alright, Thor," Fury murmured as he remained standing, arms tucked behind his back, legs apart slightly—a position of at-ease. "Tell Romanoff what you told me."

Thor pursed his lips, looking a little sheepish suddenly, and then glanced at the boy next to him. His eyes twisted up to meet Natasha's, then and he smiled, half-heartedly. "My father has issued punishment for my brother."

Natasha's expression darkened. "Good to know. Got we deserved, I hope."

"Not quite."

The words were Loki's first since they'd arrived and Thor looked at him incredulously.

Natasha, who still had no real idea who the child was, furrowed her brow and leaned in close, studying him. It didn't take her long to deduce, however, as blue eyes widened, slowly, in realization. It was _in_ the eyes. She could never forget _those_ eyes.

…_that is my bargain, you mewling quim_!

"Loki," she breathed.

"A pleasure as always, Agent Romanoff," he replied, smirking at her. "To what do I own the most unwanted pleasure of your company, hm?"

"Shut your damn mouth," Fury barked. "You don't got any magic, weapons or even an grown-ass man's body so you best shut up 'cause right now, I think pretty much any lowly Midgardian peasant could take you right now."

Loki glared. "Speak down to me again, mortal."

"_Enough_!" barked Thor and then turned gentle eyes on Loki. "Brother, this will _not_ end your punishment any more quickly. You're supposed to be aiding the humans, not egging them on!"

"Wait. What?" Natasha asked. "What's going on, Thor?"

"Let me begin again," Thor murmured, closing his eyes and folding his burly hand atop the table. "Loki has been sentenced to live out his days as a child, with little to no magic, unless he can prove he has had a change of heart toward Midgard."

Loki snorted.

"He must live here on Midgard and enact kindness upon your people in a manner of his own choosing in order to earn back that which he has lost," Thor continued. "And, seeing as he is a child, and the laws of children and childcare on your planet are much different…"

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I think I'm beginning to see why you called me in. And all I have to say is…" She stood up. "…I'm going back to Stark Tower."

"_**Sit**_, Romanoff. _**Now**_." Fury glared at her.

"Sir, I am _not_ a babysitter," Natasha seethed. "And if Thor is back, why can't he just take care of him?"

"I would, Agent Romanoff, trust that. However, Asgard is on the brink of war with Svartalfheim," Thor murmured. "As crowned prince and successor, it is my duty to return to Asgard and aid my father in whatever is necessary to keep that from occurring. For now, anyway."

"Fine. Then get Stark to do it. He can handle the tough cases."

"Can't. His anxiety would kick in as soon as he found out who the kid is," Fury replied.

"Bruce, then. He's nice and forgiving toward _everyone_."

"Oh, by the Allfather, no," Loki replied, eyes widening.

"And _that_," Natasha added, clearly gesturing to Loki's fear of the Hulk.

"Too dangerous. It's obvious Odin doesn't want the kid killed or maimed—just taught a lesson. Don't wanna start any wars."

"Steve."

"Working on something already."

"What? I haven't gotten a job in six months and _Steve_'s got something? What's he working on?"

"That's classified."

_Classified?! _

"_Then, _what about Cl—" She paused before she could even finish the sentence. She already knew the answer to that one. Taking a deep, surrendering breath, she quirked her lips to the side in exasperation and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Fine," she offered in reluctant affirmation. "Fine. You're sure his magic is secure?"

"Yes," Thor replied. "My father put very specific restrictions on it. He can only use it to aid your people. Not to harm them in any way."

"Joy," mumbled Natasha. "Well, I can't take him back to Stark Tower if you're worried about Tony or Clint. So what am I supposed to do with him?"

"Don't worry," Fury murmured, trying to contain his small smirk of victory. "We've taken care of that."

* * *

"_We've rented you a two bedroom apartment just eleven blocks from Stark Tower. That way you can still perform any Avenger-esque duties that might crop up. Just in case."_

"_And what do I tell them about not living there anymore?"_

"_That it's classified."_

"_None of my missions have _ever_ been classified from Clint."_

"_He'll live."_

"I don't like this, Tasha," Clint said, leaning against the doorway of Natasha's Stark Tower bedroom as she packed her clothes into backpacks and duffle bags. "_Classified_? You and I have always been a team. Nothing has ever been _classified_ before."

"That's what Fury said, okay? You got a problem, ask him," Natasha replied as she disappeared into her bathroom with another backpack and swept all of her beauty products into it. Clint heard the distinct sound of a zipper and traveled further into the room, standing among her makeshift luggage with his hands on his hips; his face was dark with suspicion and reluctance.

"This just doesn't feel right, Nat," he mumbled.

"Look, it's a job. The first one I've had in six months, practically, that didn't have something to do with someone's cat up a tree or some bullcrap like that," Natasha replied as she reemerged, throwing the bag down with the rest of them. "I'm not about to turn it down."

"So, then, it's potentially dangerous?" Clint asked, raising an eyebrow at her as he shuffled back a little from the tossed bag.

"Potentially."

"And you're accepting it?"

"Yep."

"_Without_ me?"

"Pretty much."

"I don't like it."

And as Natasha collected the bags, two or three at a time over her shoulders, she looked at Clint with a unflinching eyes and replied, "I know. Bye, Clint."

"Nat—"

It was too late. As he listened to her footsteps pad down the hall, by the time he had decided to chase her, he could hear the ding of the elevator taking her down, down, down.

At least, she still had her cell phone.

* * *

"This domicile is wretched," mumbled the young Loki as he stepped into the small, two bedroom apartment that SHIELD had issued to himself and Natasha for the time being. "It's far too small, and cramped."

"Says the egomaniacal demi-god who was trapped in a glass cage for a day," mumbled Natasha as she dropped her stuff on the floor. She'd unpack later. She was tired, and drained from having to spend even a silent car ride with the prince of haughty-huffy-sighs. And now_ the complaining_.

"Yes, well, I knew I would be getting _out_ of the cage very soon, so I didn't let it bother me," replied Loki, glancing around. "But if we are to be living somewhere for an extended period, shouldn't it be amenable, at least?"

"This place _is_ amenable, you little—" Natasha began, but took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. "You know, I hate you. I hate what you did to Clint, what you did to my world, and what you tried to do to me. _But_ we're stuck with each other for the unforeseeable future so can we just—just _try_ to make the best of this?"

"I am."

"_No_. You're_ not_. That means no complaining, no whining and no _tricks_. I'm serious. You may not have your magic, but your father, for _whatever_ reason, is allowing you the use of your _tongue_ and I know what that means. Are we on the same page yet?"

Loki was smirking at her in a way she didn't like, his arms crossed over his chest, but, offering her a haughty tilt of his chin as an affirmative response, he murmured, "Yes. Very well, Agent Romanoff. I will _obey_." _For now_.

"Good. Now," she mumbled, looking around. The place was furnished at least. It definitely wasn't as nice as Stark Tower, but it would do. It had a three-person couch, a small recliner and a much smaller TV set. There was one bathroom, a kitchen that connected directly into the living room, the only divider between them being a small bar. The refrigerator whirred with electricity, which told Natasha it was already stocked, and it sat next to a small gas stove.

She nodded, again, and looked at Loki. Noticing her own luggage but his lack of luggage, she frowned. "Do you have any other clothes?"

"Do I look as if I have spare garments?" Loki replied, a deadpan expression painting his features.

Natasha sighed, closing her eyes and massaging her forehead. "Fine. We'll go get you some clothes in the morning. For now," she turned away from him, throwing her arms up. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight!"

Loki watched her go, narrowing his eyes. When he heard the door slam behind her, he glanced around, wrinkling his nose at the meager amenities, before moving toward his own room. Glancing in, he noticed the twin sized bed, the single night stand, and a lamp. Nothing more, nothing less.

He frowned, narrowed his eyes at the sparse room, and tried to call up his magic—tried to conjure a book, at the very least. Nothing.

Sighing, he realized he really _was _stuck in this situation whether he wanted to be or not—just before realizing that so was Agent Natasha Romanoff.

A grin spread across his face. _Well, she is correct about one thing. I still have full access to my mind—and my tongue. _

And if he was going to be stuck on Midgard as a child with no magic, he was going to make her life _a living hell_.

That would pass the time a little faster.

At least until he could figure out how to reverse Odin's punishment. Preferably without having to help the foolish mortals.

Finding his nearly-mortal childlike form also drained from the day, and feeling a little better about his predicament, Loki also slid, quietly, into his room and closed the door. He would sleep now.

After all, tomorrow was a brand new day.

* * *

"O God You are my God; Early will I seek You; My soul thirsts for You; My flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water." Psalm 63:1

_Please_ review.


	3. Chapter 2

I am very sore from working out at the gym. I give people like Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston, Robert Downey Jr., Scarlet Johannson and Chris Evans mad props for the crazy workouts they have to do to get into shape for roles like the Avengers. I can't even do 20 minutes of ab crunches without feeling like I killed every muscle in my body.

Anyway: _Mythic_, ladies and gentlemen.

Disclaimer: Do not own the Marvel characters, or anything I may pull from Mythical Detective. None of it. It's aaallll just for fun.

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Chapter 2

* * *

When Loki awoke the next morning, he was sore from head to toe. Despite his recent romp through the cosmos, he still had certain sensibilities that had been cultivated under the care and protection of the Asgardian royal family. And the small, hard mattress he had been provided was far from what he was used to. On top of that, he was trapped in an all but mortal body and thus, forced to suffer their pain and stiffness when placed in an uncomfortable situation for long periods.

As he moved, tensely, through the apartment, making his way out to the main living area, he wasn't really surprised to find the Widow already awake, sitting behind the small kitchen table with a newspaper open in front of her face. He could see the peek of short curls from behind the paper but her face was completely hidden behind the thin, gray sheet.

"There's cereal on the counter. I poured you a bowl bur you have to put them milk in it," came her voice through the obstruction of the paper. Loki's brow furrowed and he approached the small counter bar that separated the kitchen from the living area. Moving around the counter into the kitchen proper, he noticed the bowl sitting on the counter and looked down into it. His nose scrunched in disgust at the rainbow-colored loops that stared back at him and he snapped his head around to look at her.

"What is this?" he hissed,.

"Food," Natasha replied without lowering her paper.

"This isn't food—it's a mutilation of the word food made the color of the Bifrost."

Natasha finally lowered the paper a little, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sure. Bifrosted flakes. Enjoy." She lifted her paper again, trying to contain her laughter as Loki growled and picked up the bowl.

"Where is the milk, stupid woman," he barked.

"See the white box right there next to the counter? The tall one with two doors? That's called a refrigerator. It's a magic machine that keeps liquids cold," Natasha replied, condescendingly. "Here on Earth, we need to keep milk cold or it will spoil and we get sick."

A thought occurred to her: "But go ahead and leave it out if you want to—you know, for when you use it tomorrow."

"Oh, you think you're clever, woman," mumbled Loki as he opened the refrigerator and claimed the one labeled _milk_. He poured the cool, white liquid over the cereal and then frowned. "And how exactly do I eat this?"

Blue eyes rolled high, nearly into the back of her head, as she tried to focus on the article she was reading. With a heavy sigh, she replied. "With a spoon. Turn around. Top drawer."

Loki pivoted on his heel, careful not to spill his bowl, and opened the drawer behind him. Picking up a spoon out of the drawer, he proceeded to close it and then went to the table and sat down. Dipping the spoon into the milk and cereal, he lifted a few pieces to his mouth and took a bite. Despite his initial hesitations, the sweet crunchiness of the cereal in combination with the cool, moist milk delighted him in a way he never would have shared with anyone, and as he crunched away on his meal, he allowed himself to enjoy it a little, his eyes wandering over the back of Natasha's newspaper.

Something interesting caught his attention.

An article in the classifieds—someone asking for assistance with something a little..._strange_.

Loki reached out, yanking the paper from the woman, the edges of it ripping from within her long, painted fingers.

"_Hey_," she snapped as Loki flipped it around to look at the ad.

"Hush, quim, I am reading," he replied.

"Do _not_ call me that, you little-"

"_Shh_, can you not see I am engaged here?" Loki barked, looking up at her finally. "Now, _quiet_."

He turned his gaze back to the ad and then a wide grin spread across his face. "Perfect. _Perfect_."

"What? What 'perfect'?" She snatched the paper back and looked at the ad. _"Paranormal investigator wanted. Strange occurrences disrupting household. Help strongly needed. Willing to pay any asking price. Call 555-7555 ASAP."_

Loki stood and moved to the bar. He picked up Natasha's cell phone from where it sat, charging, and his eyes gleamed with amusement. "Barton has called you sixteen times. Lover's quarrel?"

She jumped up, yanking the phone from his grasp, silently. Her eyes gleamed, maliciously, at him.

Loki shrugged. "Alright, dial the number then. I haven't the time to learn how that trivial thing works."

"I'm not dialing _anything_ and you're going to," Natasha said. "You're getting a full wardrobe of clothes and a cell phone so I can keep tabs on you. Today."

"Fine, fine, just _dial_ _the number_!" Loki argued, glaring at her. She shook her head.

"No," she replied. "Eat your cereal."

Picking up her own empty bowl, which had, until then, been hidden behind the newspaper along with her face, she moved to the sink and began to wash her dish, placing it in a drying rack on the counter before turning and walking back out of the kitchen. Loki watched her with contempt, but sat down and ate his cereal, seething.

Natasha paused next to the table, her face turned away from him, her hands on her hips. "What makes you think you can help that person in the ad anyway? What has Norse mythology got to do with stuff like ghosts?"

Loki finished the last bite of his cereal and stood, a smirk playing on his lips. "Again, you show how very little you know of your own realm." He carried the dish to the sink and placed it in, not bothering to wash it or even dump out or drink the milk.

"You better wash that," Natasha said.

"Or you'll what?" Loki replied, turning to look at her, his arms crossed over his chest.

Natasha opened her mouth to snap, then thought better and closed it, her eyes narrowing. Finally, she murmured, "You know, I'm beginning to see why your father put you into the body of a child."

Loki rolled his eyes and placed his small hands on his hips. "Look, woman," he began, "that which you foolish mortals call _paranormal_ is varying in origin. Much of what you do not understand is what remains of Yggdrasil's magic on your realm—the wayward spirits of those who have not passed properly into Valhalla, Nifflheim or Helheim, for example."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not only just, but..." he continued, "you cannot truly believe I am the only one of my kind, or of any of Yggdrasil's branches who have found the hidden pathways into your realm. You cannot truly believe I am the only one with magic to mask my presence from view. This _paranormal_ activity could be a number of things in an area of which I am, actually, well versed."

"Uh huh," Natasha said, "And what do you think will happen? They'll just let you, a child by Earth standards, waltz into their house and...what? Do what exactly? You don't have any magic."

"Fath-" Loki began and then paused, pursed his lips, swallowed down the offensive word, and continued, "_Odin_ informed me that I would have limited use of my magic for the sake of _helping_ your people. Now, I don't know what _your_ definition of help is, Agent Romanoff, but I believe relieving someone of something disruptive to be a service. Wouldn't you agree?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes again, turning her gaze to him finally. "I'll _think_ about it. For now, I'm going to shower. We have errands to run." She started toward the bathroom, pausing in her stride to turn and look at him. "You'll need to shower after me."

Loki watched her go, and raised an eyebrow at her. "What? What for?"

"Because you wore those clothes all day yesterday and slept in them. You kind of need it." With that, she turned, smirking to herself quietly, and walked off.

Loki couldn't help but sniff himself. He cringed. _Smarmy woman._

* * *

The streets of New York were packed with bustling people, all moving from one end of the world to the other. Or so it seemed. No one ever slowed down—no one ever stopped. It was a perpetual mixing bowl of constant movement, as people hailed cabs, spoke on cell phones and moved, with grace and hectic bounce alike, through the crowded avenues, going everywhere and no where at once.

Natasha weaved and pushed through the throng of people like a professional, sliding through people like water through a canal. Dressed in a pair of black jeans with a casual maroon blouse draped over her torso, the sleeves trimmed short against her arms, she actively received the attention of male passers-by. But she was incredibly apt at ignoring unwanted attention.

If only she could ignore the man-child she was forced to pull through the crowd. He obviously didn't understand the nature of New York City, nor did he understand that any one of the people in the crowd could have been someone whose life he had turned upside down six months prior. No, all he cared about was himself.

It was obvious in his tone of voice. She didn't know how many times she'd heard him cry _Move, mortals_ and how many times she wanted to smack him upside the head. There were two things wrong with that though—she would be accused of child abuse and she would then have an irritating _and cranky_ child version of Loki that she would then have to return to a small apartment space with.

_Thor so owes me_, she determined as they finally made their way to the a long street full of retail stores. Taking a deep breath of relief, Natasha turned her eyes down to Loki. "Okay. We've got to get you some clothes. Besides your rude attitude toward perfect strangers, you're getting weird looks for what you're wearing right now. Someone even asked me if my little brother was going to be in a play about Vikings."

"I tremble at the thought," Loki deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Lead the way, qui—ahm, I mean, Romanoff."

"Natalie," Natasha replied, glancing at him. "Out in public it's Natalie. But don't think just because I'm letting you use Natalie in public, you can call me Natasha in private."

"I wouldn't dream of it, _Natalie_," replied the young Trickster, dryly.

"Good. Come on." She moved with swiftness down the street. Loki followed.

They entered the first store in silence, and Loki glanced around. If he had had his magic, he could've manifested himself into any of these clothes without the use of money or effort. However, upon looking at the racks and racks of young adult clothes for males, he really began to reconsider his plan to take over Midgard. If _this_ was how Midgard's future was dressing, perhaps they would have been better off destroying themselves.

"I refuse to wear any of this. These garments are _ridiculous_," hissed the man-child, as Natasha had come to thinking of him. Shaking her head, the woman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him deeper into the store.

"Look, you little twerp," Natasha snapped, quietly. "You don't have a _choice_ in this, do you? Odin sent you here, you're stuck, and you're stuck with _me_. Now either you pick out three outfits you like, or I'll dress you in a sailor uniform, complete with knee socks and patent leather shoes. With heels. You get me?"

Loki's eyes burned with resentment, but he gave a curt nod and began to wander through the racks. "Only three?"

"For now. We'll hit a few more stores and then see to getting you that cell phone," replied Natasha, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes slid sideways as she approached from her left by a male salesperson.

"Good morning, miss," the man said, smiling. "Are you doing well today?"

Natasha gave a small nod.

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No, we're doing just fine. He's looking," she replied, nodding to Loki going through the racks.

"Oh," the man said, smiling. "Is he your little brother?"

_He's someone's little brother. To me, he's just a little pain in the-_ "Yeah. You could say that."

"Well, may I just say he has a beautiful sister," the man replied, sidling up alongside her. "I was wondering, would you care to-"

"_Natalie_," Loki interrupted, looking up at her with big, wobbly green eyes. "Why are you talking to this man? He reminds me of the man who caused the fire that killed out parents! He scares me, Natalie, he scares me!"

Fat tears began to dribble down Loki's face and Natasha had to keep a straight face. She didn't want the stranger to know that Loki was neither related, nor well-liked to her. Swallowing down her dislike, she reached out and patted his head, as the salesman glanced at the boy, looking a little disturbed, and then went to help other customers, silently.

Natasha waited until he was out of eyeshot and then rolled her eyes, flicking Loki in the forehead. "What the hell?"

"My apologies, _Natalie_, but I do not think it amiable for you to be courting anyone when you've got such an important job to do as keeping me from causing my usual calamity," Loki replied, the guise of frightened child falling. "What would Director Fury say?"

Natasha blew hot air out of her nose, exasperatedly, but said nothing. "Did you pick three outfits?"

Loki held some items up.

"Good. See those doors over there? They're fitting rooms. Go try them on. I'm going to try and quell the fears of the salesman you clearly were trying to disturb."

Loki watched her move toward him. A twinge of jealousy rose up in his heart, but it was beaten out by the smirk that fell upon his lips. The little Romanoff spider was ever so much fun to toy with. And there was more where that came from.

Glancing at the clothing in his arms, he moved through the store to the fitting rooms and, for once, did what he was told.

* * *

It took three hours to collect enough separates for Loki to build a wardrobe of viable outfits. Natasha had dealt with diplomats, politicians and business owners before in her line of work, but she was not apt in entertaining the sensibilities of a spoiled prince—and finding clothes that Loki found suitable to his refined, _patronizing_ tastes was a difficult task indeed.

She was glad when they were finally able to make it to the cell phone provider, allowing herself to enjoy the cool air conditioned store, knowing that this was there last stop and that this would be the last place she'd have to hear Loki complaining about mortal society as a whole. For now, anyway.

The saleswoman in the store approached Natasha with a smile, her black pencil skirt hugging her in all the right ways, her black blouse unbuttoned a little to reveal a cute, lacy undershirt underneath. She smiled. "Can I help you?"

Loki glanced at her up and down, noting the bright red of her lipstick and the dark wave of brown hair that fell over her shoulders. He had to appreciate the fine build of even Midgardian women—the way their hips curved just so, and their bosom sat, pert, between their shoulders. However, they weren't as broad shouldered and toned as someone like, perhaps, Sif was and, to him, that made them desirable.

He had to admit though, he rather liked Natasha's fire and warrior spirit—the same kind of spirit Sif had—housed in the beauty of her Midgardian body. If he didn't detest her kind (and her attitude) so much, she might just be his perfect woman.

After all, she was the one and only person who had ever gotten the better of him.

"Yes, I need to add a line to my phone plan," Natasha replied, smiling in a bright, friendly manner—an illusion that Loki could see right through but well versed and effective on one such as the sales woman; one who didn't know or understand who Natasha Romanoff really was.

"Alright, come this way," said the woman, leading Natasha and Loki toward the little kiosk where a computer and some brochures rested. She began to type furiously, before looking at the redhead. "Name?"

"Natalie Rushman. Here's my ID," Natasha said, holding out a little plastic card with all of her alias' information on it.

"Wonderful," the woman said, typing the information from the ID into the system. "Ah, here we are. Just one extra line, then?"

"Yes, please," Natasha replied.

The sales woman glanced at Loki. "Is it for him?"

"Yes. This is my," Natasha paused, "little brother. We recently had a tragedy so he's staying with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," the woman replied and then smiled at Loki. "Would you like to come with me to pick out a phone?"

Loki had casually picked up a brochure and started reading it—long enough to realize what phones did what and exactly how much they would cost depending on what a picked. A cheshire grin spread across his face. "Yes, please."

_Oh, damn_, Natasha thought. _I know that look_.

The sales woman led Loki through the store to the phones supported on Natasha's plan. Watching him like a hawk, she was reluctant to stop him in whatever he was planning. It would seem cruel of her to put some kind of restriction on which phone he could get based on money, when she clearly had the money and she had just told the sales woman he may have just suffered a grave tragedy.

And, like in normal Loki style, he returned to her side holding the serial number of a phone that would cost her eighty extra dollars a month, including data. _Damn him. _

That was also on top of the cost of the phone. And activation. _Damn. __**Damn**__. _

"Here's your total," the woman murmured, smiling. Natasha just offered a smile in return and nodded.

Typing in a few more necessary things, the woman printed a receipt. "Just sign here."

Natasha signed the receipt. She felt like she was signing away her life to Loki and his _damn_ smirk.

"Perfect. The phone should be active as soon as you turn it on," the woman replied. "Have a nice day. Sorry to hear about your situation."

"Thanks," mumbled Natasha and then dragged Loki out of the store. She leaned over, getting eye level with him and hissed, "Listen here, we're stuck with each other for a while so I need you to get your act together. You think your little tricks and manipulations are funny but they aren't and I'm not going to put up with your crap indefinitely. So shape up or I'll tell Thor things weren't working out and you can go back to Asgard and have your childlike ass locked up in a cell for the rest of forever, _got it_?"

"Your threats are empty and meaningless to me," Loki replied, offering her a similarly hard gaze. "And Odin would not take me back into his precious kingdom even if he had to. He does not _want_ me there. Why else would he exile me here?"

Turning from her, Loki began down the street in silence, not staying long enough to register the confused and slightly sympathetic look that passed across Natasha's face as she watched him go. Furrowing her brow, she wondered if there was more to Loki than what he showed to the world.

Then, she realized, if she began to think that way, she might actually start to care about him. Because he was like _her_. And she just couldn't let that happen.

Following him down the street, she quietly begged her mind to remain silent—not to turn over the possibility of Loki's brokenness. Not to contemplate the reasons behind his actions, and endeavors. To do that would be to open up her heart to things and ideas that might destroy them both—or destroy her and allow him to take over her life in a rush of power that no one like the Trickster should ever be granted.

So, she remained silent, mouth and mind, and watched the back of Loki's head as they walked, both of them tense with thought, and ripe with silence.

* * *

"Two are better than one, Because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, For he has no one to help him up." Ecclesiastes 4:9-10

_Please_ review.


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